Blind Justice in the House
by heisey
Summary: Blind Justice and House, M.D. crossover. After picking up Jim in Hoboken in Doggone, the Jersey troopers decide he has to be checked out medically, and they take him to Princeton Plainsboro Teaching Hospital, where he encounters Dr. Greg House.


**Blind Justice in the House**

Jim settled into the back seat of the New Jersey State Police car. He took a deep breath and rested his chin on his hands, relieved the Jersey troopers had found him, but anxious to get back to the squad and search for Hank – not to mention evening the score with Sonny. He heard the trooper riding shotgun talking over the radio but didn't pay attention until the trooper spoke to him.

"Detective, that was my watch commander. He's ordered us to take to you Princeton-Plainsboro Teaching Hospital to be checked out medically before you return to New York."

Jim bit his lip, cracked his neck and rubbed his chin. "You're kidding, right? I'm fine – and I'm working a homicide. I've got to get back to my squad as soon as possible."

"Sorry, those are our orders."

Jim pulled out his cell phone and called Lt. Fisk. "Boss, they're saying I have to go to some hospital over here in Jersey to be checked out before I come back to the squad. They can't do that, can they? I'm fine."

"Sorry, Jim," Fisk replied. "I've already spoken to their watch commander and told him we need you back here, but he won't budge – something about their policy. Just let them check you out – I'm sure it won't take long."

Jim groaned. "Jeez. What a waste of time. I'm fine."

"See you soon."

"OK."

* * * *

Dr. Cuddy found House in his office, bouncing a ball off the wall, keeping time to The Who's "Baba O'Riley." "House, there's a patient coming in you need to see," she began. House ignored her.

"House," she repeated, raising her voice to be heard over Townshend's and Entwistle's power chords.

House condescended to look in her direction. "What patient could I possibly need to see?" he asked.

"We've got an NYPD detective coming in to be cleared medically before he goes back to his precinct. He was involved in an undercover drug deal in Hoboken that went bad. Oh, and by the way, he's blind."

"He doesn't need me," House told her. "Call Psych for a consult."

"House. . . ," Cuddy chided him. "The State Police watch commander called and specifically asked that you see him."

House reached for his Vicodin bottle, opened it with difficulty, and swallowed two pills. "Not that I'm interested, but what's supposed to be wrong with him – other than being blind and crazy?"

"Maybe nothing – he says he's fine, but they just want to be sure he's OK."

"Well, if he says he's fine, there must be something wrong. Patients always lie."

Cuddy played her trump card. "Do this as a favor to me, and you're off clinic duty for a week."

"Two weeks," House countered.

Cuddy threw up her hands. "It's a deal."

"Does this guy have a name?"

"Jim Dunbar."

* * * *

Chase, Cameron, and Foreman converged on House's office in response to his page.

"As a favor to Dr. Cuddy," House announced, "you, Cameron, are going to check out an NYPD detective the troopers are bringing in. His name's Jim Dunbar."

"What's the problem?" Chase asked.

"Don't know," House responded, "except the guy's crazy. He was doing an undercover drug deal and had to be rescued by the state troopers." Noticing the puzzled looks on three faces, he continued, "And he's blind. Get going, Cameron. At least you won't have to worry about him hitting on you."

"What's that supposed to mean?" Cameron asked.

"Didn't you hear me? He's _blind_."

* * * *

Cameron entered the exam room in the ER and suppressed a gasp when she saw the good-looking, well-built blond man sitting on the exam table. His unfocused eyes, directed at a spot somewhere over her left shoulder, left no doubt that he couldn't see, but she had to admit they were a lovely shade of blue. She sneaked a glance at his left hand: no wedding ring.

"Hello?" he asked when he heard her approach.

"Detective Dunbar?" she asked. He nodded in response. "I'm Dr. Cameron," she said.

"Listen," he said, "I'm fine. I gotta get out of here. Those drug dealers have my dog. I have to find him before something happens to him."

"All right," Cameron said soothingly, "just let me examine you, as long as you're here, so we can make sure you're OK."

Jim waved his hand impatiently. "OK, just make it quick."

"What happened to you today? Why did the troopers bring you here?"

He shook his head. "Damned if I know. I'm fine. I just took one punch to the stomach." He paused for a moment, then continued, looking a little sheepish, "And I banged my leg tripping over some debris."

"Let's take a look. Lift up your shirt, please." After Jim complied, she palpated his midsection, sneaking a look at his bare chest. "Does that hurt?" she asked, seeing him wince slightly.

"A little. But it's nothing, really."

"OK. Let's take a look at your leg." After Jim rolled up the leg of his jeans, she saw a few scrapes, along with the signs of multiple old injuries. She recognized them as marks of old collisions, probably since he lost his sight, but she didn't comment on them. "Just a few scrapes," she told him, "nothing serious. What were you doing when you tripped?"

"I was chasing the drug dealers, trying to stop them from taking my dog."

"Oh. Well, as I said, they don't look serious. We just need to get them cleaned up. I'll draw some blood, just to be sure there's no problem internally. And I need to do a neurological exam. Were you knocked out? Any headache?"

"No to both," Jim replied.

Cameron held up a finger in front of Jim's face, intending to ask him to follow it with his eyes, then stopped herself. "Can you see anything at all?" she asked.

"No. Nothing." She let her hand drop to her side. No point in doing that part of the neuro exam.

"How long have you been blind?" she asked.

"A year and four months."

"What was the cause?"

"I got shot," Jim answered, indicating the scar on his left temple.

"Oh." Cameron was a little disappointed. She'd hoped Jim's blindness was the result of some obscure terminal illness. A gunshot wound to the head seemed so – mundane.

She finished up the neuro exam, then told Jim, "I need to report to Dr. House, then I'll be back to discharge you."

"Dr. House?" Jim asked. "Who's that?"

"He's the doctor in charge of your case. But you don't need to worry about him. He never sees patients."

Cameron was out of the room before Jim could process this information. Feeling slightly befuddled, he bit his lip, wondering what else could possibly go wrong this day.

* * * *

House was waiting in his office with Chase and Foreman when Cameron returned. "Blind Cop" was written in large letters across the top of the whiteboard. "What's that for?" Cameron asked when she noticed it. "He's been blind for more than a year. That's not why he's here."

"It's just a little reminder – for _all of us_," House told her pointedly, "that the guy's crazy. What other kind of a blind guy goes back to work as a _cop_?"

"A pretty ballsy one, if you ask me," Foreman replied.

"I didn't," House responded. "Besides, since when do _you_ have anything good to say about a cop?"

Foreman shook his head in annoyance but didn't answer. House turned back to Cameron. "Well, do you have anything to report, or not?"

"He has a couple of minor injuries – some superficial abrasions on one leg, and he got punched in the stomach. I expect he'll have some bruising from that, but otherwise, he's fine. I just need to give him his discharge instructions, and he can go."

"Not so fast," House said. Cameron, Chase, and Foreman looked at him in surprise.

"There's nothing wrong with him," Cameron protested.

"Oh, yeah?" House drawled. "He's in the hospital, isn't he? If he's here, there's gotta be something wrong with him – aside from the obvious, that is. Besides, I'd have thought you'd want to keep him around for a while – I hear he's good-looking in addition to being blind. Sounds to me like you hit the daily double with this guy." He limped over to his desk, picked up his Vicodin bottle, shook out two tablets, and swallowed them. "Do an endoscopy, to check for upper GI bleeding," he ordered.

Cameron, Chase, and Foreman stared at him. Finally Chase spoke up. "You're kidding, right?"

"Do I look like I'm kidding?" House retorted.

"But he has no signs of bleeding," Chase insisted, "and his hematocrit is normal. You can't do an invasive procedure like that for no good reason."

"Can't I?" House replied. "Cuddy wants him checked out, so check him out. Do it." The three fellows walked out of his office in defeat.

* * * *

"Detective Dunbar?" Chase asked as he walked into the room.

Startled to hear Chase's Aussie accent, Jim turned to face him. "I'm supposed to be getting out of here. Where's Dr. Cameron?"

"I'm Dr. Chase, another member of Dr. House's team. We need to do another test."

"What?"

"Um, we need to put a tube down your into stomach to check for bleeding."

Jim heard the hesitation in Chase's voice and protested, "Bleeding? I'm not bleeding."

"Probably not," Chase admitted, "but we need to be sure, before we discharge you."

Jim couldn't believe what he was hearing, but he also knew from experience that it was pointless to argue with a doctor who was determined to do "more tests." He shook his head resignedly. "All right," he finally said. "How long will it take?"

"Not long," Chase assured him. "You need to change into a hospital gown for the procedure," he added, handing Jim the garment. "I'll be back in a minute to give you a sedative." He walked out of the room. Jim sighed and started taking off his clothes.

* * * *

"The endoscopy was clean," Chase reported, "no sign of any bleeding."

"You're sure you didn't screw it up?" House asked skeptically.

Cameron spoke up before Chase could answer. "There's nothing wrong with him, House. I'm going downstairs to discharge him." She stood up from the table and started to leave House's office.

"Stop," House ordered her. She paused in the doorway, glaring back at him. "Didn't you say he had a headache?"

"No, I didn't say he had a headache. In fact, he said he didn't have a headache."

"Ah-ha!" House exclaimed. "That means he has a headache. Patients always lie, you know. Do an LP."

Cameron, Chase, and Foreman stared at House as if he was out of his mind. Finally Foreman voiced their thoughts, "Are you out of your mind?"

"Of course," House answered, "but do the LP anyway."

"You want us to subject the patient to a painful LP with absolutely no indication for it?"

House shrugged. "Sure, why not? I read up on our Detective Jim Dunbar. Seems he's quite the hero. Stopped a bullet at a bank robbery. That's how he got blind. Tough guy like him, he can take an LP. Do it." He picked up his cane and limped out of the room. "Find me when it's done."

The three fellows looked at each other in disbelief, then followed House. They caught up with him in the hallway and cornered him. "We are _not_ doing an LP on Detective Dunbar," Foreman declared.

"Oh, really?" House drawled.

"Yes, really," Foreman replied. "You insist on this, I'm going to Dr. Cuddy."

"Now, don't get all pissy," House admonished him.

"What is it with you, anyway?" Foreman asked. "Do you have it in for him, or something?"

"_Moi_?" House asked, feigning innocence. Foreman gave him a disgusted look. "All right, _be_ that way," House told him. "Scan him instead. I want a look at his brain – assuming he has one, that is."

* * * *

"Is this really necessary?" Jim asked as Foreman led him to the CT scanner.

Foreman didn't answer him directly. "Dr. House wanted to do a lumbar puncture. I persuaded him to do this instead. It won't take long."

Jim shuddered at little at the thought of the lumbar puncture. "All right," he said resignedly as he climbed into the scanner and lay down.

When the first part of the scan was complete, Foreman entered the room. "We done?" Jim asked.

"Sorry, not yet," Foreman replied. "We need to take some scans with contrast, too. It will help us see things better. I just need to inject the contrast material."

Jim sighed. "Just get it over with."

"We'll be done soon," Foreman assured him as he injected the contrast and left the room.

As soon as the scan began again, Jim began thrashing uncontrollably. "He's seizing!" Foreman yelled. "Stop the scan!"

Foreman, Chase, and Cameron rushed into the room and administered the medications needed to stop Jim's seizure and counteract the effects of the contrast material. Within a few minutes, Jim was lying quietly on a bed, ready to be taken back to his room. Miserably, Foreman, Cameron, and Chase headed for House's office to give him the news.

"He had an allergic reaction to the contrast medium?" House demanded.

Foreman, Cameron and Chase all nodded unhappily.

"I don't suppose any of you geniuses thought to ask him about allergies?" The trio looked at each other, then hung their heads. "You each assumed one of the others asked, is that it?" There was no answer. The three fellows shifted uncomfortably, unable to meet House's eyes. "Well, what do the non-contrast films show?"

Foreman slapped the films up on the light box. "Look for yourself," he said, "except for this" – he indicated the damage caused by the bullet that had blinded Jim – "it's absolutely normal. Face it, there's nothing wrong with the guy."

House shot a disgusted look at the films, then at Foreman. "Get out," he snapped, "and let me know when he wakes up."

* * * *

Lt. Gary Fisk's phone beeped. He punched the button for the internal line and answered it. "Lt. Fisk."

"You're gonna wanta come downstairs, lieutenant," the desk sergeant told him, "there's someone down here you been lookin' for."

"Who is it?" Fisk asked.

"You gotta see this for yourself."

"All right, I'll be right there," Fisk answered, hanging up the phone.

Downstairs, he stopped short as he approached the front desk. "Hank!" he exclaimed. "Who found him?" he asked the desk sergeant.

"No one. He found us. He was sittin' right outside the front door. Phillips recognized him and brought him in."

"C'mon, boy," Fisk said, taking hold of Hank's leash. "Let's go."

When they reached the upstairs squad room, Fisk released Hank, who went directly to his usual spot next to Jim's desk. He sat there, looking around the squad, as if expecting Jim to appear, then lay down, looking crestfallen. "Sorry, boy," Karen told him. "Who brought him back?" she asked Fisk.

"Nobody. He found his own way back to the precinct."

"Good boy," Karen told Hank. Turning to Fisk, she asked, "Any news about Jim?"

"No." Fisk frowned. "He should have been back by now. I'll call the hospital, see what I can find out." He went back into his office and picked up the phone.

House was sitting at his desk, playing computer poker and mulling over what additional tests and procedures Jim might "need," when his phone rang. "What?" he snarled after picking up the receiver.

"Dr. House?" Fisk asked.

"Yeah, who wants to know?"

Fisk was taken aback, but carried on. "Lt. Gary Fisk, NYPD. I understand one of my detectives is a patient of yours – Jim Dunbar?"

"He works for you?"

"That's right."

"Well, I hate to tell you this – " House paused.

"Yes?" Fisk asked, a little apprehensively.

" – he's blind."

"I know," Fisk said, beginning to wonder if he was really talking to Jim's doctor. "How is he?"

"A blind detective," House mused, ignoring Fisk's question. "Whose idea was that? I'll bet he's just great at scoping out clues," he added sarcastically.

"How is my detective?" Fisk repeated.

"'My detective' – my, my, possessive, aren't we?"

"Stop wasting my time and tell me how he is."

"No need to get testy. He's all right, if you must know. You can have him back when he wakes up."

"When he wakes up?" Fisk asked incredulously. "What the hell is going on there?"

"A little of this, a little of that," House answered nonchalantly. "We had to do a few tests, but he'll be as good as new when he wakes up – well, almost as good as new – even I can't cure everything."

"What's that supposed to mean?" Fisk demanded.

"When you get him back, he'll still be blind. Sorry about that."

"Are you really Jim's doctor?" Fisk asked, "Or is this some kind of a game?"

"Oh, I don't play games, I assure you," House answered airily, then hung up the phone.

After the connection was broken, Fisk stared at the phone in disbelief for a moment, then hung up the receiver and strode out of his office.

"How's Jim?" Karen asked.

Fisk shook his head. "I'm not sure. I just spoke to some head case who claimed to be his doctor. We better get over to Jersey and find out what's going on, before that nut job kills him. Let's go."

* * * *

House was sitting behind the desk in Wilson's office, going through the charts there, when Wilson walked in. "Up," Wilson ordered when he saw House sitting in his chair. House ignored him. With a resigned sigh, Wilson sat down in one of the side chairs. "What's going on with you and the blind detective?" he asked.

"You mean the 'hero'? Give me a break. All the guy did was run into a bullet, and everyone's saying how _brave_ he is and fawning all over him."

"I haven't noticed any 'fawning'," Wilson pointed out.

"Oh, really? What about Cameron? You're telling me she doesn't have the hots for him?"

A look of realization crossed Wilson's face. "You want to know what makes him tick. That's it, isn't it? The guy got dealt a much tougher hand than you did, and he got his life back together. While you – well, you're a mess."

House glared at Wilson across the desk. Finally he snapped, "Get out."

Wilson returned the glare. "Aren't you forgetting something?" he asked. House said nothing and continued to glare at him. "This is _my_ office." Without another word, House stood up and stomped out the door.

* * * *

House stood outside Jim's room. He watched him for a few moments, noticing how the blind man was moving his head from side to side in quick, jerky movements, as if he was listening intently for something – House wasn't sure what. He went into the room. "Dr. House?" Jim asked.

"Oh, very good," House told him derisively. "Who tipped you off?"

"No one," Jim replied. "What's wrong with your leg?"

"That does it," House declared. "Which one of them spilled the beans? My money's on Cameron."

"Nope," Jim told him, shaking his head. "I'm blind, not deaf," he reminded House. "I heard you walk in – and I heard your cane."

"And I'm supposed to be impressed, is that it?" House asked sarcastically, sitting on the side of the bed. He opened his Vicodin bottle, shook out two pills, and swallowed them dry.

Jim didn't answer him. Instead he asked, "What are you doing here? They told me you never see patients."

"Oh, you didn't think I was going to pass up the opportunity to meet the famous blind detective, did you?"

Jim waved a hand dismissively. "So now you've met him. When do I get out of here?"

"All in good time, all in good time."

Jim was silent for a moment, in the thinking mode his fellow detectives knew only too well. "So what do you want from me?" he asked.

"Want from you? What could I possibly want from you?" House scoffed.

"I don't know, but you want something. I'm a detective, remember? It's my job to read people. I don't have to see you to do that. You never see patients, but here you are. So, yeah, you want something from me."

"You know you're crazy, don't you? Whoever heard of a blind cop?"

"You want to know how I do it, huh? How I deal with this?" Jim asked, indicating his eyes. "Because something happened to you, too – your leg, right? – and it messed you up bad. That why you take those pills?" He shook his head. "Sorry, doc, you'll get no answers from me. You have to figure that one out for yourself."

"That's it?" House asked scornfully. "That's your big insight from going blind? Was it worth it?"

Jim stiffened almost imperceptibly, then gave a little shrug. "So when do I get out of here?"

"When I say so," House asserted, standing up and walking toward the door. As he opened the door, Fisk and the squad approached, accompanied by Hank.

"Jim," Fisk called out, "are you all right?"

"Is that you, lieutenant?" Jim asked.

"Yes, Jim, we're all here – Hank, too."

"Ah, the good lieutenant," House drawled, "with his henchmen – and woman," he added, noticing Karen. "And this must be the trusty companion," he said with a nod in Hank's direction. "Come to save the day, have you?" he asked Fisk.

"Something like that," Fisk confirmed. "Come on, Jim, we're getting you out of here." He paused, looking around the room. "Where are your clothes?"

"I have no idea," Jim told him dejectedly, wondering what had become of his favorite black leather jacket.

"We'll worry about that later," Fisk said briskly. "Let's get you out of here. Can you walk?"

"Yeah, I'm fine," Jim replied as he got out of bed, clutching the skimpy hospital gown around him.

"What d'you think you're doing?" House demanded. "You're not going anywhere until I say so."

Marty spoke up. "Think again, doc. He's coming with us."

"The hell he is," House said, attempting to block the door and pointing his cane in the detectives' direction. As he waved the cane, Hank caught its other end in his mouth, starting a tug-of-war, which Hank won. House lost his grip on the cane and fell to the floor, cursing and yelling about "police brutality," as Karen led Jim out of the room and down the hall, followed closely by Fisk, Marty, Tom, and Hank.

"Damn," Jim said, "I can't go back to the squad like this." He grabbed the back of the gown with one hand, in a vain attempt to keep it closed, while holding onto Karen's arm with his other hand.

"Don't worry, Jim." Tom's voice came from behind him. "We got your back."


End file.
